


Protocol

by badbavarois



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, During Canon, Eggsy centric, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle, just what happens in canon, poppy can..choke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbavarois/pseuds/badbavarois
Summary: As a Kingsman, there's never time to mourn. Eggsy excels at the art of compartmentalization.





	Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> oof i started this when i got home from seeing tgc and then lost the notebook and found it again on sunday and then was too lazt to post it lmao  
> edited by ray as always

Eggsy knows the protocol. 

 

After Harry died, he compartmentalized, shut down and got the job down. Once Valentine was dead and he was officially Galahad, he went to Harry’s -  _ his -  _ house and drank every bottle of liquor he could get his hands on.

 

It wasn’t until he was drunk off his ass that he finally cried, dry heaving and struggling to breathe, because he was alone and protocols be damned.

 

After Roxy died, there wasn’t time to grieve. He and Merlin were in America and the service came first and the world needed saving and he had to uphold Galahad’s name, and - 

 

But, Harry wasn’t dead. The Statesmen had a gun to his head and a noose around his neck and his hands shook while he shaved off his morning stubble, but he was  _ alive  _ and - 

 

Harry didn’t remember him, didn’t remember any of them, flinches away from Eggsy’s touch. He stares blankly at the two of them and Eggsy doesn’t care, because as much as it hurts, Harry not remembering him is better than losing him completely.

 

(Some part of Eggsy’s mind tells him this is worse - having Harry beside him physically, not mentally, a shell of his former self. Eggsy shoves it deep down and tries to forget.)

 

Eggsy compartmentalizes because it’s what he does best, after all those years growing up under Dean. He pretends Harry is still dead and goes back to England. The Golden Circle is still out there, the mission is still active, there isn’t  _ time. _

 

That doesn’t stop him from crying on the Statesmen’s private jet. Whiskey hands him a flask and doesn’t ask.

 

…

 

He gets drunk at the bar bordering the Statemen’s distillery once he’s back in the US, orders a martini and gets a smile and a glass of whiskey.

 

He has a picture of Harry from before everything went to hell tucked into his wallet. They were driving through the city, JB in the back of Harry’s car. Harry was in a suit and Eggsy was still in trackies.

 

_ (“A gentleman would never dress that way, even if he was in the privacy of his own home.” _

 

_ “You’re the one who told me it was manners that make the man, not fancy clothing.”) _

 

Eggsy doesn’t remember where they were headed, but he remembers the confidence of Harry’s voice, the warmth of his hand on the small of Eggsy’s back. Harry’s smiling in the picture. He never smiles in his padded cell at the distillery, even when he’s reading about his precious butterflies, or drawing them on the walls.

 

Merlin saw it once, raised an eyebrow, told Eggsy it was a bad idea.  _ ‘It puts both of you at risk,’  _ he said. Eggsy still never took it out.

 

Eggsy knows it’s selfish, but he wants Harry back, needs him back more. He orders another whiskey and when he sees a picture of JB, he barely tastes the alcohol when the idea hits him.

 

The gun shakes in his hand, but Harry looks terrified. Eggsy couldn’t shoot JB before when Arthur asked and he knows sure as hell he couldn’t shoot the pug now, not when Harry was staring down at it like it hung the moon and the sun and all the stars in the night sky.

 

“Kill me instead,” Harry says,  _ begs,  _ a hitch in his voice and tears blurring the corners of his eyes.

 

Eggsy doesn’t lower the gun. “I’ll fucking shoot both of you.”

 

“Don’t shoot him. He hasn’t - “

 

Eggsy can tell the exact moment it works, the exact second Harry falls back into himself, the instant he recognizes Eggsy. Eggsy drops the empty gun and pulls Harry into a hug, the puppy squirming between them. 

 

(Eggsy never told Harry he loved him before Valentine, before the church in Kentucky. There’s no point in telling him now, either.)

 

…

 

_ “Do you know the last thing I thought of before Valentine shot me?” _

 

_ Eggsy didn’t know the answer - knew it would be Harry’s family, or Merlin, or the Kingsmen. Hoped Harry had thought of him, no matter how unlikely. _

 

_ “Nothing. My mind was completely blank. I didn’t love anyone when Valentine shot me, never have.” _

 

Eggsy jerks awake. 

 

It’s been two months since Poppy died and things are  _ fine,  _ but he still dreams of what Harry said and can’t breathe, because Harry doesn’t love him, doesn’t care about him, only acknowledges him when they work together. They would have lived their whole lives without ever meeting if Harry hadn’t blamed himself for Lee’s death.

 

Eggsy’s alone, but then again, it’s always been that way.

 

…

 

Somewhere along the line, Eggsy ends up drunk and Harry takes him home to a Kingsman safehouse that Poppy didn’t know about. Harry makes him drink water and take Tylenol before putting him to bed, tucking the blankets under his chin like he’s still a little kid. To Harry, he still is. 

 

Eggsy stares up at him, licks his dry lips. It would be so easy to kiss him, to press their mouths together and run his fingers through Harry’s coiffed hair. He wants to, badly.

 

Eggsy watches him walk to the door before saying his name.

 

Harry looks over his shoulder, hand resting on the doorknob. There’re bags under his eyes, dark purple bruises. Eggsy can hear him pacing through the night, still adjusting to the memories and his weakened body. 

 

“Yes, Eggsy?”

 

“Can you stay?” He swallows, trying to figure out how to dig himself out of this hole. “Just until I fall asleep?”

 

Harry doesn’t respond as he sits down at the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks under his weight. Eggsy shifts to watch him. He’s still too thin, and the cotton undershirt hangs off his shoulders. His elbows jut out, knees twitch beneath his plaid sleep pants. He’s wearing slippers - new, to replace the ones he lost when Poppy bombed his house. 

 

They’ve lost a lot of things, recently. Eggsy doesn’t want to lose anything -  _ anyone  _ \- else. 

 

He reaches out, takes Harry’s hand. He can’t read Harry’s face, swallows again and hopes for the best. Squeezes once, twice, three times for good measure.

 

“Stay,” he says. Just one word, prays it’s enough for Harry to understand.

 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Okay.”

 

…

 

Eggsy wakes up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache. He groans and rolls over, but something blocks his path. He blinks away sleep to find Harry next to him, curled in on himself and snoring softly. He kicked his slippers off at some point, but he’s not covered by the blanket. In the moonlight, he looks more human and less tortured spy. 

 

Eggy wraps an arm around his torso and pulls him closer gently. He doesn’t wake up when Eggsy throws the blanket over Harry, and he falls asleep, snuggled against him.

 

…

 

He wakes up when Harry falls out of bed, too twisted up in the sheets to stand. His eyes are red and bleary, his hair a sleep-ruffled mess. His pants are slung low on his hips. 

 

Eggsy pushes back his hair and blinks, propping himself on his elbow. Sunlight is beginning to stream through the curtained windows. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry I - I shouldn’t have - “ Harry looks scared, like Eggsy’s pointing a gun at JB again. Eggsy never wants to see him like that again. “I fell asleep in your bed.”

 

“It’s okay,” Eggsy says, sitting up fully. “I promise.”

 

“I shouldn’t have. It was inappropriate.” Harry’s growing flustered, blushing down his neck. Eggsy’s never seen him like this - before, he was always dressed in posh three-piece suits, not a single hair out of place and in complete control. It’s a good look on him, Eggsy decides. 

 

“You know I’ve never cared about what’s appropriate.” 

 

Harry blushes again. Eggsy knows he’s pushing something, and if he goes too far there’s no going back. If things go south, there’s no escape route. Once upon a time, that would have scared Eggsy, but now he’s too used to do or die to give up on the things he wants so easily. 

 

“And you know I care about you.”

 

“I know, but - “

 

“So why are you scared?”

 

“Eggsy,” he says, just short of a whine. Eggsy’s not used to being in charge, isn’t used to pushing people around. He’s starting to like it less.

 

“So, what are you going to do?”

 

Harry’s on him in an instant, kissing hard, one hand pulling Eggsy’s hair and the other gripping his jaw hard enough to bruise. His mouth tastes sour and his lips are chapped, but Eggsy kisses back twice as hard.

 

He’s pushed down into the mattress, Harry heavy above him. Harry tugs on his hair again and Eggsy arches his back, moaning as Harry bites his neck and sucks a bruise.

 

‘You have no idea - “ he chokes out, “ - how long I’ve wanted this.”

 

Harry hums.

 

“Since you fought those blokes in the bar after you got me out of jail,” he says. It’s honest, more honest than he usually is during sex, but Harry deserves it, after all this time. “I’ve loved you since then.”

 

Harry pulls back, smiles. “I love you too.”

 

And for the first time in years, Eggsy feels like he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> oof i hope you liked it  
> comments/kudos appreciated, requests open  
> tumblr - shuos-jedao/claude-lit  
> twitter - cactixix


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